A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1636 - 1636: The Hidden Mighty - Part 5

Tiberius gave him a poisonous smile, and bit his lip looking down on him. "Now that makes for a pretty picture. You're a more handsome man than your father was, Wyndon."

That sent a fresh shiver down King Wyndon's back, for he knew just how far General Tiberius' appetites extended. None was off limits for him. King Wyndon kept his head bowed, so as to hide the beautiful face that he was so fond of flaunting.

The so-called Emperor giggled richly, seeing the gesture. "Now, now. Don't show such fear, dear Wyndon. You need not be afraid. I would not see you harmed without reason. You have wandered all this way, and you have waited such a time. Whatever do you want from little old me, after all these years? You never dared to show your face before. I'm sure you wouldn't shamelessly stroll in with a request, would you? You wouldn't be attempting to beg me for aid, when you have failed to offer tribute ever since the death of your father?"

The silence that followed told Tiberius all he needed to know. King Wyndon fumbled for diplomatic words, but he found none, and the so-called Emperor spoke up before he had the chance to.

"Oh. I see. That was exactly what you had intended," Tiberius said, his voice suddenly icy, where it had seemed so pleasant before. There was cruelty in it, of an experienced sort. A man that wielded it for his pleasures, as much as his punishments. "Then talk, Wyndon, before I grow tired of you. You've come to beg – then beg."

"…I am sure you are unaware," King Wyndon said. "But beyond these walls the realm is at war. A rebellion has been started, under General Blackwell, and he has designs as to putting Queen Asabel on the throne of the High King."

"Yes, yes, I know," Tiberius said impatiently.

"You know?" King Wyndon said, caught off guard. He was sure that was the one advantage that they had over Tiberius. His father had made sure that they at least had that measure. Any crow or even any ordinary bird that came close to the richly decorated walls of Tiberius' palace prison were shot down. Not the slightest scrap of information could reach him. The outer guards had strictly no contact with the palace women that dwelled inside, and that was a matter that trusted Wyndon officials saw to keeping.

"I know," Tiberius said again, glaring at him now. "I also know that you're afraid. The Emersons screwed up royally, and you're afraid that you'll end up doing the same, aren't you? A worthwhile fear. If your allies are losing to a youth that has only just earned himself a name, in the form of that Oliver Patrick, then I would say, indeed, you are in for a rough time of it. And I would say that, all things considered, you will be the ones losing this war."

"Preposterous," King Wyndon said, his outrage giving way for a second. "That was not the matter we were discussing. This war is won from the offset – the question is whether we can secure just rewards and spoils for our lands in the process. We could stand to lose our titles, as the Emersons are being threatened with. We could be cast down all the way to the ranks of peasantry."

With an unmoved expression, Tiberius regarded him. "And? Do you suppose it would bother me to see the likes of you squirming about in the mud of the peasantry? I think it would make for quite the endearing sight. Perhaps if you treated me to such a picture now, I would take your request more seriously. Besides, no matter what direction you fall into, the result will be the same. This is a war you are losing, Wyndon, and even if you do win, with your weak hand supposing itself to be a ruler, your contributions will be pitiful. You will not be earning the graces of that ripe prune that you call the High King."

"What's your basis for saying that?" Wyndon said, his voice raising.

"Ah, see, there is a little bit of back bone in you after all," Emperor Tiberius cooed. "That will be all the more fun to break. Is there any point in explaining it to you? Should a bird explain flight to the likes of a worm? Ah, but then I get to see your expression shift, when you realize that, more than just in your arms, your mind is so significantly lacking. Your instincts are lacking. You are a different creature to I entirely, and yet you attempt to walk into my estates, bearing a crown, as if you were better than me!?"

For all his calmness when he had begun speaking, the switch to his enraged shouting made it all the more terrifying. There was the sickly smell of madness that clung to his every gesture. He was just a bit too free, just a bit too loose and overwhelming. But King Wyndon had known of his madness long before he had arrived. It had been the very reason that his father had seen him locked up. 'I don't know whether that ambition of his is part of the madness, or something else entirely, but both ring equally as dangerous,' the old King had said, in instructing his young heir on a matter of the poison that he had left hidden.

"Numbers don't win wars," Tiberius said, his hands folding into themselves, like the wings of a bird, as he retained his calm. He traced a little battle in the air, like an artist drawing a masterpiece. "People do. And the quality of the personnel on the side of Blackwell is superior. The Gods favour them. Who does the High King have? He has you. He has Emerson… I do suppose he has Tavar as well."

"General Tavar? Of the Academy?" King Wyndon asked. "I supposed that he would be joining the enemy… He was a known supporter of Oliver Patrick's."